


The Pursuit of Discovery

by Crystal_Mind_Palace221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mrs. Hudson Ships It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal_Mind_Palace221B/pseuds/Crystal_Mind_Palace221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little quote from the great game got me thinking about what John and Mrs. H chat about in Sherlock's absence.

Sherlock had been out at Scotland Yard filling out paperwork from their latest case. John was home, sitting in his chair in front of the telly, more than a little unemployed. He’d recently gotten sacked from his job at the local clinic; one too many late nights on the case, resulting in one too many occurrences of falling asleep on the job. A bit not good. Just as well, as his relationship with Sarah had just been broken off. It’d be quite awkward to return to the clinic and see her every day after all that happened. Turns out, women don’t take well to being kidnapped and held hostage by Chinese smuggling rings on the first date.

John flicked through the channels on the telly, searching for something to captivate his interest in Sherlock’s absence. He felt as though he should embrace this alone time. Savour this rare occasion of having peace and quiet in the flat. But it just felt odd without Sherlock there. It reminded him a bit of the days before he met Sherlock. How, just a year ago, he’d been alone in a dark flat, living on an army pension, and contemplating his very purpose. Never would he have guessed that he’d been introduced to an absolute madman who’d grant John's life purpose once more with his very existence. 

John’s contemplation was broken with the introduction of BBC’s 9:00 morning news. The broadcasters, John noted, were far too posh and unusually lively and bright, compared to the cynicism of the average Brit. John stretched luxuriously before lazily relaxing into his plush chair. He wore a grey, cable knit jumper, and loose pyjama bottoms. The entire ensemble doing absolutely nothing for his figure. Not that he’s got much of a figure to be proud of these days. He’s put on a few pounds since being back in London, and middle age was beginning to catch up with him. 

“Hoo hoo!” a familiar voice spoke from the doorway of the flat. John glanced over to find Mrs. Hudson smiling brightly in greeting, and carrying a tea tray over to the sitting room. 

“Good morning, Mrs. H” John said, returning a polite grin. 

“Good morning, dear. I thought I’d bring some tea up for you boys. Just this once, though, I’m not your housekeeper.” She insisted. 

“I’m afraid it’ll just be you and me, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock’s out at Scotland Yard with Greg, working on some paperwork, or something of the like.” 

“Oh, I like him, Greg. He’s such a nice man. Handsome too.” Mrs. Hudson admitted, girlish laughter in her voice. 

“Mm. Greg’s great.” John said in response. “Take a seat, Mrs. H.” he invited her. 

Mrs. Hudson sat in Sherlock’s typical seat, and reached across to hand John his cuppa. 

“Ta.” John replied as he took his cup. 

Both John and Mrs. Hudson sipped on their tea and turned their attention to the telly; the headline story about the rising national debt, and the faults of the current prime minister. John could hear Sherlock’s voice echo in his head: ‘how dull...’ John reached for the television remote and flipped through the next few channels, before landing on Connie Prince’s Beauty Queen of Hearts, which Mrs. Hudson immediately began commenting on. 

“Oh, Connie Prince! She teaches about colours.” the landlady stated. 

“Colours?” John asked in response. 

“You know, what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise apparently. Drains me.” 

“Hmm.” John hummed. 

The two sat in silence while Connie Prince spoke wisely about the importance of colour coordinating one’s shoes with one’s handbag.  
Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson turned to John and asked, “So, how’s Sarah doing then, John?”

“Actually, uh, we broke up.” John spoke, almost too casually. 

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’m sorry, dear.” Mrs. Hudson said sympathetically. 

“Eh. S’alright.” John replied. 

“She was a nice girl. But she didn’t seem quite right for you.” Mrs. H admitted. 

“Yeah, I don’t think she was. I’ll find the right one eventually.” 

“Perhaps you already have.” Hudders said with a smug smile playing on her lips. 

“How do you mean?” John asked, though he feared he already knew what she was going to say. 

“Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson said, confirming John’s suspicion. 

John opened his mouth, fully intending to defend his heterosexuality. Though, if he did, it wouldn’t be truthful. John favored women, but he’s been known to fancy other men from time to time. Though with Sherlock, he’s found himself completely entranced by the arrogant, endearing, infuriating, brilliant man. As a result, John had been forced to come to terms with his bisexuality. 

“I… No.” is all John could say in response. 

“Why ever not? You boys were practically made for each other. Both of you dashing about, solving crimes and giggling like school girls. I’ve never seen two people happier with each other than the two of you.” 

“Yes, but… Sherlock’s not like that. He doesn’t feel things, that way, I don’t think. Sentiment, it’s not his thing. So I’d prefer just to… leave it.” John replied honestly, looking into his half-emptied glass of tea, not having the confidence to look Mrs. Hudson in the eyes at the moment. 

Mrs. Hudson laughed then. She laughed until tears of mirth formed in her eyes. John immediately felt like an imbecile for sharing anything. 

When Mrs. Hudson got her breath back, she spoke again, giggles still interrupting her speech. 

“Sorry love, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just… that young man... I know he likes to hide it behind all that…” Mrs. Hudson's speech broke off then, as she made a face to mimic Sherlock’s poshness and arrogance. "But he's got a heart of glass. So fragile and easily broken if put into the wrong hands." 

John smiled at this revelation. He hadn’t imagined that Sherlock would welcome any type of sentiment. After all, he proclaimed himself ‘married to his work’ and ‘a high functioning sociopath’. But perhaps, John thought, that was all just a facade of self-preservation. 

John decided that he would endeavor to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

“That was ridiculous…” John huffed, and shut the door behind himself. “How did you know that it was the nun who did it? And how did you know that she had a bomb strapped to her thigh? And how did _I_ miss that?” John berated himself, still out of breath from the thrill of the chase.

Sherlock peeled off his coat and folded it over the sofa arm. John followed suit. 

“I would make a comment about your seeing but not observing, but you were particularly brilliant tonight, John, So I’ll spare you, just this once.” Sherlock replied, smirking as he moved into the kitchen to prepare tea for himself. John huffed a laugh at Sherlock’s response, followed Sherlock into the kitchen, and stood just behind the kitchen table, watching Sherlock as he moved about, preparing tea. 

John then registered that such sentiment from Sherlock was typically unheard of. John furrowed his brow at this. 

_‘I hadn’t had any profound input on this case, what could Sherlock be talking about.’_ John opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off just before he could give voice to his thoughts. 

“Tea?” Sherlock inquired, already holding two mugs in assumption that John would want tea. 

“Uh. Yeah, ta.” John stuttered his response. 

Sherlock looked up at him, noticing this strange reaction from John. 

“Problem?” Sherlock spoke, inquisitively, popping a brow with the inflection of his voice. 

“No… Just uhh… How was I particularly brilliant tonight?” John inquired, genuinely curious. 

John watched as Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, don’t fish for compliments. You’re above that.” Sherlock replied, exasperatedly. 

“No, Sherlock. Truly, how was I ‘particularly brilliant’? I didn’t offer a helpful insight, or anything of the like, so what, pray tell, are you referring to?” John inquired again, his voice more stern now. 

Sherlock turned then, and looked at John purposefully, as though he were transmitting a telepathic message between the two of them. “John.” He spoke flatly, and then turned his attention back to the apparently ever-so-important preparation of tea cups. 

“Sherlock! I’m not going to just let you have your way with this, like everything else. Tell me!” John shouted now, to which Sherlock turned back to look at him once more. This time, Sherlock’s face was covered in a blush. It was quite fetching to see humility painted on Sherlock’s face, John noted. 

Sherlock bit his lower lip before he spoke, hesitant about how to give voice to his thoughts. He took a deep breath and exhaled it again before he finally spoke, “John. You… you make my head… work better. It’s a very strange phenomenon, truly, one I should probably further investigate at some point, actually.” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. 

“I make your head… work better? What does that even mean?” John questioned him, baffled. 

“All the extra data, facts and information seem to go away. You wash away everything that is not relevant in that moment. It helps me to find the answer sooner than if I did not have you by my side. You are an invaluable asset to me, John Watson.” 

John stood, his mouth open, and his eyes reflecting the adoration he felt in his heart for the man standing before him. 

“Mrs. Hudson told me, you know.” John added, when he was finally able to speak again. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened. He ran to the sitting room, and practically leapt to the fireplace mantel, where his frantic hands lifted Billy the Skull, revealing his “secret supply” of cigarettes untouched. 

John huffed a laugh, and shook his head at his flatmate’s ridiculousness. “Not about your cigarette stash, you git.” John said with laughter in his voice. 

“Oh.” Sherlock spoke, relieved. “What did Mrs. Hudson tell you, then?” 

“That you’re actually a soft-hearted, caring man, and all that ‘sociopath’ stuff is rubbish.” 

Sherlock looked even more panicked at this statement. He cleared his throat and regained his composure before retorting. 

“It is not! I have a diagnosis from a somewhat-reliable source.” Sherlock countered, looking almost offended. 

“Mmm. Mycroft?” John asked, sure he was correct. 

Sherlock looked at him darkly, “Yes.” He confirmed a second later, sulkily. 

The kettle came to a boil.


	3. Chapter 3

They sat in their perspective chairs, tea in hand, and inquisitive eyes silently scanning over each other.

“So. I’d like to hear it.” John began, setting his teacup in his saucer. 

“Hear what?” Sherlock spoke deeply, his tone almost daring John to continue on their previous subject of discussion. John felt quite daring. 

“Look, I know I’m probably overstepping my boundaries here…” John said carefully. 

Sherlock let out an exaggerated sigh of discontent. 

“But...How does a kind, caring man like yourself, decide to swear off human connection for the rest of his life? Seriously, Sherlock, how does something like that even happen?” John inquired, feeling smug for having breached this new territory. 

“Was it… Abusive parents?” John took a guess. 

Sherlock’s eyes darted up to John’s silently berating him for having even suggested something so negative about his parents. 

“Okay, okay. Sorry, not that. Your line of work? Mycroft’s rubbish ‘diagnosis’?” 

Sherlock just looked at him, but he was sure he successfully conveyed his answers to each inquiry. 

“Okay, so no, then.” John gathered. 

“Hell...Scorned by an ex-lover?” John asked, trying for anything at this point. He looked to Sherlock for a response. 

John almost fell out of his chair when he looked up to find Sherlock practically sinking into his chair to retract from the conversation. Sherlock’s knees were pulled up to his body, his face buried into the too-expensive cloth of his trousers. Sherlock was now physically shielding himself from John’s questions. 

The answer to John’s question was obvious enough. 

A wide range of emotion suddenly struck John. 

He felt angry at the stupid sod who had previously dejected Sherlock. He felt a pang of guilt for having asked these questions that were obviously making Sherlock uncomfortable. And he felt a tug of adoration at his heartstrings for the stupidly-brilliant man sat in front of him. 

“I’m sorry.” John spoke quietly. 

“For?” Sherlock replied, quickly, wanting a more thorough apology. 

“For asking all those questions. It obviously made you uncomfortable, I should have stopped. And I’m also sorry for… what happened. Just because one person wasn’t deserving of you, doesn’t mean that you have to swear off relationships altogether. I understand it, though. It’s tough to be vulnerable again after a being hurt.” 

“John. Stop talking. I fear that you might say something you'll later regret. ” Sherlock demanded. 

John chose to remain silent now. He simply pursed his lips and looked across to the ball that Sherlock had twisted himself into in his chair. 

They drank their tea in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

The golden firelight flickered across the otherwise darkened room. They sat on the floor just before the open flame. Take-out boxes of chinese food scattered in the distance between the two men.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Sherlock said sharply, in spite of his mouth being stuffed full with lo-mein. 

“Yes, I’m terrible. What am I doing wrong this time, then?” John replied light-heartedly. 

“The chopsticks. You’re holding them wrong.” Sherlock clarified. 

“Well, they’re still getting food into my mouth and I believe that is called a result, so I couldn’t care less if I’m holding them correctly or not.” 

“John.” Sherlock pouted. 

“Fascinating. You couldn’t give a shit about the solar system, but you get all fussy about the proper way to hold chopsticks from a shoddy chinese diner.” 

“I was once able to prove a man’s alibi false based on his finger formation while holding a pair of chopsticks.” Sherlock informed. 

“Mmm.” John hummed in response. 

“And I’m not... _fussy._ ” The detective pouted. John had to beg to differ. 

John suddenly felt the warmth of Sherlock’s hand in his own. Sherlock had apparently gotten so aggravated at the state of John’s improper chopstick etiquette, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Silky, warm pale skin moving delicately against John’s rough, war-scarred skin. Sherlock’s fingers twisted around John’s deliberately placing them into their correct positions, his eyes twisting into the same intensity as when he is working on a case. 

“Errr… Thanks.” John spoke as his hand cramped from the uncomfortable position it was twisted into. 

“Mmm.” Sherlock just hummed in response, then picked up his own set of chopsticks. His long fingers easily slipped into place on the wooden sticks. Sherlock reached across and nicked a piece of John’s kung pao chicken. John would complain, but decided against it, as he was happy to see the lanky man eat anything. 

Sherlock studied the piece of chicken that was pinched in between the two wooden sticks. 

“Victor.” Sherlock spoke, his voice just barely audible. He regretted it as soon as he’d said the word. He immediately began hoping that John hadn’t heard. 

“I’m sorry, have we taken to naming our food now? Okay, yes, that one is Victor, and this one is Tom.” John replied, huffing a laugh at his own joke. 

“John.” Sherlock replied, unamused. “Victor” he repeated. 

“Sorry, should I know who you’re talking about?” 

“I would hope not. Dreadful man, really.” 

“Right. And who’s this bloke?” 

“The… ‘scornful ex-lover’ as you put it last night, if I remember correctly, which I always do.” 

John was struck dumbfounded. He sat quietly, watching Sherlock for a response, all the while, trying to come up with an appropriate response, himself. 

“Right.” John said, because it was all he _could_ say.


	5. Chapter 5

Chinese food long forgotten, the fireplace crackled on behind them, and suddenly John felt a certain parallel could be drawn between himself and the fire just behind the fireplace grate. Burning white hot flames quickly licking across the wood, exposing the oxygen trapped inside, immediately destroying it, in order to add to it’s own flickering magnificence. If Sherlock were a flame, John would be the wood. John felt as though his supply of oxygen was being forcefully pulled out by Sherlock’s very being.

“So.” John started carefully, and then cleared his throat. “Do you uh… Do you want to talk about it, then?” John asked, trying his best to sound comforting. 

“Not particularly. Though you certainly seem to be interested in knowing about it.” 

“Well, I just thought… Well that…” John started, not sure where he was planning on saying next. _I thought you were a married-to-your-work asexual sociopath_ , John thought. That certainly wouldn’t go over well. 

“I know what you thought.” Sherlock finished for him. 

“Right." John answered, thinking of the implications of what Sherlock had just said. "So this… Victor, is it? What’s the story with him, then?” John inquired. 

Sherlock huffed a breath, and seemed to sink into himself. 

"You don't have to tell me. If... if you don't want to." John said, not wanting Sherlock to feel uncomfortable once more. 

Sherlock continued, despite this. 

"I’ll indulge your curiosity.” The detective spoke, as though he were doing John a service in this act. 

“It was years ago in Uni. We introduced when he approached me, requesting I help him better understand Chemistry. I was under the impression that I would meet with him weekly and go over Chemistry subjects. He of course, had different intentions.” 

“So… he fancied sex, rather than tutoring, then?” John took a guess, thinking that Sherlock was hinting at this conclusion. Sherlock’s brow popped in response, and narrowed his eyes at John. 

“...He introduced me to cocaine, John. That’s when my addiction problems started. And soon, I couldn’t get enough. I was meant to be helping him pass this course, but my marks began slipping because of all the time I spent high.” Sherlock finished, making John blush furiously at his previous statement. “Though, several times he had offered to… provide me with... sexual stimulus.” Sherlock added, his face twisting into one of confusion at the memory. 

“So, I take it you weren’t interested.” John commented. 

“Obviously. We began spending all of our time together, and I began feeling invested in him… emotionally, I guess one could say. Though I didn’t understand why he placed such an importance on the act of sex. It’s never made sense to me. Of course, Victor didn’t take well to that. And he… started seeing other men, and thought I wouldn’t notice. He tried to hide it from _me_. From me, John.” 

“Sounds like a right prat.” John offered, but the sentence sounded wrong to his own ears. 

“Is that when you discovered that you were asexual?” John quickly asked, feeling the need to cover his previous comment. 

“I’m not asexual. I just didn’t understand the desire for sex at that time in my life.” Sherlock defended. 

“Hmmm. And what changed your mind on that?” John questioned. 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together, as if to say, _‘you’ve surpassed my comfort zone, I refuse to answer such a ridiculous question.’_

Silence fell across the two men temporarily, as John popped a piece of cooling kung pao chicken into his mouth. 

A moment later John boldly asked, “Did you love him?” making eye contact with the man opposite him. 

Sherlock seemed to consider this before giving his answer “I thought I did. At the time.” 

“What’s led you to the conclusion that you didn’t.” 

“It never compared to what I know to be love now.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“I fell in love with someone else.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME SO LONG TO GET BACK TO THIS, I'VE BEEN BUSY WITH GRADUATION AND WORKING AND EVERYTHING AND JUST COULDN'T FIND THE TIME. BUT I WANTED TO GET BACK TO WORKING ON THIS, SO BE EXPECTING MORE UPDATES I JUST DONT KNOW WHEN EXACTLY YET SORRY FRIENDS. 
> 
> ps. I've referenced The Blind Banker, The Great Game, and A Scandal in Belgravia, and I know that these episodes all take place in different times than how I've explained them in the story but just go with it

John dropped his gaze and carefully studied the wooden boards beneath him. He pursed his lips, wanting Sherlock to add to his previous statement. He contemplated asking Sherlock who he had been referring to, but John wondered if his heart could take it if he heard the words ‘Irene Adler’ wistfully spill out of Sherlock’s mouth.

John was determined to know. 

John met Sherlock’s gaze once more. He opened his mouth, and began forming the words. John’s shaking voice betrayed him as he tried to maintain an indifferent and collected composure. “Irene Adler?” He asked with mock casualness, as his heart began to beat wildly in his chest, awaiting the answer to his inquiry. 

Sherlock’s mouth quirked up into a smirk, which began to grow until a large grin was painted across his face. This grin quickly became a fit of giggles, each more hysteric than the last. It reminded John of their first crime scene together; the one with the pink lady, and the bad cabbie. 

“So, no then?” John interrupted Sherlock’s unending giggle-fest. 

“NO! Honestly John, I will never understand the mechanics of your mind. Whatever led you to that conclusion?” 

John had thought back to his meeting with Mycroft at Speedy’s. 

_‘What can we deduce about his heart?’_

John had taken Mycroft’s question to imply that Sherlock had just discovered his capability of sentiment due to his introduction to Miss Adler. 

“Just…Something Mycroft had said…” 

“Oh god, what did my brother tell you?” Sherlock asked, sounding disgusted with the very mention of Mycroft. 

“At the end of Irene’s case. When she was… sent to America, he had said something about how you elect to be a detective rather than a scientist or philosopher, and how we may deduce a parallel between this and… your heart.” 

Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh in response, rolling his eyes for good measure. 

“I had told you before, John, girlfriends are not my area. I had thought this was pretty indicative of my preferences. No, I do not, nor have I ever loved Irene Adler.” 

John pursed his lips again, and remained silent for the rest of the evening.


End file.
